Forgive me for the radio silence. Apple hates me and all my devices. Where is all my memory?! Uh!
I turned to Sam. “I’m having a writerly conundrum,” I told her.
We were at an after-work event two weeks ago. I was her plus one and we were using the opportunity to catch up.
I can’t hang.
I mean, I can. But not the way I used to.
On Friday I went to dinner with my girlfriends. A catch up session that turned into us closing the restaurant down (if I recall, correctly).
The drinks were two for one.
There’s been all this talk online that there is too much diversity on TV.
The few scripted dramas that are centered around the lives of brown people are, now, considered #tewmuch.
I like seeing my image on TV.
And it makes me think about the kind of content and images that I crave online.
Sometimes, I’m champagne, and others, I’m Hennessy.*
Specifically, Veuve Clicquot at the Ritz Carlton, for what appears to be an annual gathering for a belated birthday celebration.
I love this city, I hate it sometimes, too. In an effort to keep track of my feelings about the Big Apple during my time here I try my best to chronicle them in a letter to this crazy place. Welcome to Dear New York–a series posted monthly on the anniversary of the date I moved here.
All I needed is a sign, God.
Just a sign.
I plead with God daily about many things. But mostly, just for a sign. That this is the right direction. That this is where He would have me go.